


Born to the North, Sworn to the North

by Anonymous



Series: A Song of Swaps [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-24
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-12-06 21:37:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18225746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: The babe is hearty and hale. The babe can only be her husband's, for he is the only man Catelyn has known, in the brief days before he rode out to war.Catelyn has not borne Eddard Stark an heir, for a daughter cannot hold Winterfell.Or: An AU where all of Ned and Cat's children are genderswapped.





	Born to the North, Sworn to the North

Catelyn Stark, until quite recently Tully, should pray for a son. It is her duty, after all, for her husband is off to war and his sole heir a boy of four-and-ten.

Cat instead prays for a babe, pink and strong and squalling. Not that the babe of Jon Arryn's Lysa is convinced she bled out. Not like their baby brother, gray and still for the single time they saw him before he was buried with their mother.

She prays for herself. Minisa Whent was a formidable woman, but Catelyn does not to follow her in the birthing bed, burying as many babes that lived before losing that last fight.

Long as the labor is, Cat endures to hold her firstborn. Swaddled in gray and white, the babe has a face red as its hair, and screams loud enough to hear from across Riverrun.

The babe is hearty and hale. The babe can only be her husband's, for he is the only man Cat has known, in the brief days before he rode out to war.

Cat has not borne Eddard Stark an heir, for a daughter cannot hold Winterfell.

The Andals are not the Dornish who let children rule by virtue of birth order, but neither are they the dragons who always throw aside the female heir for the male, no matter her proximity to the throne. A lord may hope for a son but can grudgingly settle for a daughter to carry on his name and direct blood.

For the eight thousand years the Starks have held Winterfell not a single queen or lady has ever held it in her own right. Maester Luwin has checked all the records he can in Riverrun and then called upon maesters still in the north. When Cat's girl is born he checks again.

The lucky daughters have had their husbands or sons adopt the Stark name to rule in their stead. Others are unceremoniously wedded off to husbands who can never hope to press their claims, or left to languish in their maidenhood until they are no longer threats.

More than one has married an uncle to solidify the claims of the male heir. The northerners are not so picky in their definition of incest, when Winterfell is on the line.

Eddard, who Cat has really known for a fortnight, rode off to war only with instructions to name a son Robb for the king they are all risking their lives to crown. He said nothing about a daughter, as if he could not comprehend riding off to die in battle leaving only a baby girl behind.

Cat has dreamed of daughters before, with Brandon's dark hair and her mother's face. Sansa and Arya and Lyarra, Stark names that roll off the tongue like song. Perhaps even a Minisa, after Cat has birthed enough wolves.

She tries them all out, for Eddard's child. All ring presumptuous on a girl with bright red hair and eyes that promise to also spring up blue, a trout in wolf's clothing. Minisa is even worse, a southron's name for a girl without a drop of Stark in her.

Edmure tries his best to help, but her brother is ten and named his last pony Merry. Because she was a girl pony. "Jeyne Stark? Jenny Stark? Jen Stark?" He puckers his nose in thought. "Why not just name her for her father?"

Their father's already suggested that. Cat had considered it for all of two seconds. "'Eddara Stark' would not be doing your niece any favors, Edmure," she tells him. Neither would Eddane or Edda or any reasonable rendering of such a stout, northern name.

Edmure presses on. "Why not for the king, then?" He holds out a finger for the babe to hold. "Roberta Stark. Do you like that?"

Cat barely holds back a face. She thinks on more reasonable alternatives.

_Robba. Robetta. Robyn..._

It's a name with precedent, surely. A compromise for a husband who could not yet have his Robb and a pledge of support to the rebellion House Tully has devoted itself to. A name northern enough to quell the mutterings of the banner men who would have rather seen their Ned Stark wed to a Blackwood or Royce if he had to wed south at all.

"Robyn Stark?" Maester Luwin briefly considers this before offering an approving nod. "There was a Robyn Stark just the last century, when Robyn Ryswell was wed to Lord Jonnel Stark."

It's not the answer Cat was hoping for, but by then it's too late. The name has stuck. The babe with the bright red hair and eyes springing up Tully blue is Robyn. Even Lysa calls her it, the rare times she is around the babe.

Eddard's last letter out before he rides for Lyanna wholeheartedly approves the name. It also wholeheartedly dispels any rumors their little girl is betrothed to his brother. He affirms Benjen is only his heir until such a son can be born to them. Gods willing, little Robyn shall have plenty of little brothers and sisters to one day join her.

Once more, Cat allows herself to dream of dark-haired boys and gray-eyed girls. She will secure her place and Robyn's with a son, just as Lysa will surely give her old falcon the brood she prays for.

* * *

Eddard Stark rides north with the bones of his sister and a bastard of his seed. Jon, the boy is called. Jon Snow.

For a bastard named for an Arryn and sired by an unknown mother, the boy is northern to the core. Cat now knows her histories and knows the name thoroughly Stark, for all the Jon Starks and Jonnel Starks that came before. His hair is dark, eyes gray like a winter sky, and signs of his father's long, sorrowful face lurking beneath his baby fat.

Eddard's face lights up with a joy Cat had not thought it capable of when he takes Robyn into his arms for the first time. All Cat sees are the differences between them; Robyn's bright red hair and bright blue eyes, even pale skin against that still reddened by the Dornish sun.

"She is perfect, my lady."

Cat manages a small smile that curdles only slightly at its edges.

Robyn is a healthy babe, a promise that their marriage is fruitful and many more sons may follow. Yet her existence does not confirm Cat's place as Lady of Winterfell, not like her own birth had secured Minisa Whent as Lady of Riverrun.

She needs a son, a trueborn son with his father's hair and eyes. An undisputed direwolf, to counter the bastard boy that looks more Eddard's child than Robyn shall ever be. How can she dare make demands on Jon Snow to be sent away from Winterfell, without her own son in the cradle and to hang over her husband's head?

* * *

Benjen Stark remains his brother's heir. So he remains at Winterfell, no matter how his eyes gaze longingly north or the arguments that brew between him and Eddard.

Cat has long known how Benjen has wanted for years to join the Night's Watch. When he had been third in line, with two brothers ahead of him, he had intended to ride out for the Wall upon reaching his age of majority. Surely been then Cat would have at least gave Brandon a son or two.

Ravens swarm Winterfell by the dozens, sometimes leaving Maester Luwin covered in scratches and black feathers from keeping the more quarrelsome birds in line. Lords and masters from near the Wall from into the Neck and south of it seek Benjen's hand. Suddenly everyone has a sister, a daughter, a niece, a second cousin dying to meet brave Benjen for they have long loved him from afar.

Offers come for little Robyn, not yet a year old.

Eddard is ready to reject them all. "Lyanna was _ten_ when our father finalized her betrothal to Robert! And they think I would seal our daughter's entire future while she's still in the cradle!"

An emotion, hot and strong and something like love, gushes through Cat. Eddard is nothing but gentle with her and Robyn, but it always stirs her heart to see her wolf lord bare his fangs in defense of their little pup.

Cat inhales deeply. "My lord husband, perhaps it may be prudent to keep some options open."

She braces herself for her husband to turn on her like a cornered wolf, to tear her down for daring to contradict his wishes, for him to sneer how cruel a mother she must be to consider their daughter like a pawn for the marriage game. Brandon would have. Eddard holds one letter in a chokehold, face like stone, but eyes open and waiting.

"Had Robyn been born to you in any of the other Great Houses, she would automatically be your heiress." Cat meets Eddard's gaze steadily. "Even in the north, were your names other than Stark."

"Exactly, my lady." Eddard exhales, eyes hardening as he stares down at the letter in his hand. "Most of these offers see Robyn as a stepping stone to Winterfell, right over Benjen and any brothers she may have."

Cat considers the twin towers with a snort, because the Late Lord Frey once offered his eleventh son as Cat's consort as he now offers his twentieth as Robyn's. "All the more reason to reject all those from south of the Neck, my lord husband. It is the north that fought you, the north our daughter was born, and the north you must one day reward with her hand."

Eddard has constructed a sept and renovated her quarters to make her welcome in Winterfell, but not even the Warden of the North can silence all whispers his fishmonger wife brought home a trout for a daughter. All the houses that fought and died and bled for the Starks resent the southron ties that forced such a war in the first place. Cat and little Robyn need allies of their own north of the Neck, beyond what they gain only from Eddard by extension.

"Had things gone as planned, I would have wed north," Eddard murmurs. "Gods know Benjen is this close to bolting. I cannot force a proper bride on him, but I can coax him all I can."

Cat blinks. Brandon and Lyanna had been folded into Lord Rickard's grand ambitions, but Eddard had been granted the freedom of not having a betrothed. He could have wed where he wished, and still would have wed to ensure the Starks retained close ties to their banner men.

She cannot help but reach for his hand. He squeezes back.

"Surely there are some houses we can keep a dialogue open with, Eddard? A lord that served you well during the war, with a son or brother Robyn's age. Someone you wouldn't mind becoming family?"

Roose Bolton has a son of roughly the right age. And Rickard Karstark, though perhaps his oldest is a bit too old. So do Jon Umber and Halys Hornwood. There is even a Robin Flint, born to two branches of that house.

"Perhaps. On one condition." Cat braces herself, thoroughly unprepared when her husband smiles slightly. "That you might call me Ned."

* * *

Alongside his son Willamen for Robyn, Walder Frey also spurriously offers a bastard daughter or granddaughter of his own for little Jon Snow, if Ned ever gets it in his mind to legitimize the boy. He also offers a trueborn girl for Ned himself, if Cat proves even less capable than her own mother at giving her husband a son.

Walder Frey is so brash it almost becomes amusing. Until the next letter comes, this time from a wolfswood clan, also offering Jon a bride and a place to foster should Lord Eddard wish it.

And the one after that.

No lord offers much beyond a bastard of their own or a girl from some shamed or distant line. The fact that even a slight amount see Jon Snow's legitimization as the Heir to Winterfell almost makes Cat beg her husband to promise it could never happen.

All such letters are burned. Ned instead sends out ravens to the most promising of candidates for Benjen's hand, opening Winterfell to those girls bold enough to try.

Jonelle Cerwyn is the first to arrive, for her father's castle is a scant half day's ride away. She has been one of Cat's own high hopes, which fall when she meets the girl in the flesh. She is only a year older than Benjen and amiable enough, but no beauty.

More maids and young widows show up from the wolfswood and immediate vassals of Winterfell. And then an endless tide after that. No matter how carefully Cat vetted the invitations, suddenly every lord in the north feels the urge to pass through Winterfell or pay homage to their lord with some female relation in tow.

Benjen finds no solace in the godswood, with so many pious maids. Or in the wolfswood, when every girl is a hawker and rider. Or even in the nursery, where Robyn rides him like her direwolf, when suddenly every maid must come to coo over cat's little girl and make polite comments about the bastard.

Benjen takes to locking himself in his room and twice makes a bid for the Wall before the riders catch him. His and Ned's arguments shake their solar and the hall and the godswood.

When a great beauty arrives at court, Cat allows her hopes to get up before her good-brother finds yet another way to scare the girl off or dismiss her altogether. Sharp and handsome Barbrey Dustin is an outside chance, but Cat thinks she could have Benjen eating out her hand. The young widow, however, remains proud and comfortable in Barrowton, with strong enough of a blood claim over Willam's seat to rule it in her own right.

In the strife, Cat wakes one day to a bed of blood. Her moonsblood had stopped for two cycles.

It could have been her long-awaited son, the boy with Ned's hair and eyes, the brother to totter after Robyn. It could have been the solution to Benjen's woes and Winterfell's infestation of maidens.

Eddard and Benjen's latest argument shake Winterfell to its crypts. Cat takes Robyn and even little Jon Snow out to the godswood, for no child should have to hear the vitriol thrown between two snarling wolves.

It ends in an ultimatum; Benjen has one moon to pick his bride, or Ned's picking for him. Any further attempts at running away costs Benjen any grace period remaining. He is forced to swear the vow before his father's empty tomb, for Aerys had Lord Rickard's burned bones thrown into the Blackwater.

Into this bitter feud arrive Maege Mormont and her eldest daughters.

Cat would have never set that invitation to Bear Island, were it not for Ned's insistence. No matter how old and proud the house is, Maege has no husband or even a known paramour, and her daughters are trueborn only because her elder brother Jeor commanded it so. They are not even direct heirs to Mormont Keep, as Lord Jorah's Glover wife is sure to give him a child any year now.

Cat veils her pessimism behind courtly grace when she sees the she-bears in the flesh. Maege herself is short and stout, riding into Winterfell in patched ring mail with a club at her side. Alysane, old enough for only a betrothal, is even shorter and more muscular than her mother.

Dacey, the elder, is already six feet tall and lanky. Cat is grudgingly impressed at how gracefully the girl carries herself even in armor. Even a small spark of hope kindles when Dacey Mormont changes into a green dress to meet Benjen and acts a proper lady.

Her hopes go down in burning flames when Benjen actually meets the she-bears. Her good-brother, actually trying for cordial, is still so taciturn with Dacey that Alysane gets upset on her big sister's behalf. And then promptly challenges his 'scrawny little arse' to a spar over Dacey's honor.

Benjen and the bears are banished to their chambers for the day. Winterfell echoes with the growling of Maege chewing her younger daughter out. Both are put under watch.

Benjen and Dacey are still discovered later that night in the godswood, covered in bruises from the wooden blades tossed carelessly aside and from other... matters. Because both are found naked, their leather armor in pieces all around them.

The next afternoon sees Benjen throwing the cloak of his father over Dacey Mormont's shoulders. The bride looks radiant, for her gown has long sleeves and Cat's powders have mostly disguised the other... bruisings on her neck. Ned is torn between grimness and bemusement through the ceremony. Benjen's other would-be brides are an unbelieving audience.

Maege Mormont calls it a miracle. Cat doesn't care if it's an act of the old gods or careful calculation on Maege's part. She rests easier, when the other suitors finally pour out her home and Benjen eagerly gets to work at securing the succession.

Ned orders construction of a new keep upon Sea Dragon Point, ostensibly to help secure the western coast from reavers that have not wholly accepted King Robert's new peace.

Such a seat is perfect for a cadet branch. And right across the bay from Bear Island.

* * *

More than three years after Robyn, Catelyn Stark at least gives Eddard his son and heir. The boy is smaller than his sister had been at birth, but healthy and well-natured. His hair is bright auburn and his eyes the baby blue that promises to stay blue.

Not two weeks later, Dacey delivers a son twice his size, with her shock of dark hair.

When the babes are finally laid side by side in their cradles, Dacey snorts a laugh and slings her arm over her good-sister's shoulder.

"A bear and a trout!" she japes. "And our boys wanted a wolf pack from us!"

Catelyn smiles thinly. Her expression softens somewhat when Robyn scrambles onto the child's bed next to the cradle to better see the babes instead.

"This is your cousin, sweetling. His name is Rodrik." For the Stark king that thrashed the ironborn and gave the Mormonts Bear Island, of course.

Robyn, who has inherited Ned's long face after all, frowns. "He doesn't look a bear."

"That's because the maester shaved him," Dacey explains. "The same way he had to pluck all the scales off your baby brother."

Robyn gapes at her, though Jon is a bit more dubious. "Really?"

"Of course," Dacey assures, before Cat can open her mouth to correct them. "Why don't you go and ask him yourself?"

Robyn charges off with Jon at her heels. Catelyn frowns after them.

Her sweet Robyn is not truly a babe anymore. It's high time she finds her daughter proper girls to play with. Perhaps even a septa...

No. Cat has endured enough whispers about the southron trout and her little trout daughter. Robyn must keep to the old gods and now how to manage a northern lord's household as Catelyn herself once learned to run Riverrun.

Rodrik wakes up from his nap with an angry squall. Dacey easily lifts him from his cradle to nurse him. "You know, Catelyn, Ben and I can take Jon when the keep is done."

Catelyn has not considered this. A soft whimper from her own son has her picking him up to nurse. He has no need to cry, for his mother or a nursemaid is never from his side. Ned Stark's trueborn son in her arms, she realizes none can dispute her as Lady of Winterfell now. Not even Ned.

"I don't know if Ned will agree to it," she concedes. There is no doubting Ned loves Jon as much as he does Robyn, even though Cat tries to gracefully excuse herself from the sight of it.

"I don't see why not," Dacey says bluntly. "Jon is Benjen's blood too. Rodrik's blood, now. And there's plenty of land in the wolfswood and Sea Dragon Point to go around, if Ned decides that's best. Growing up some with Ben would let Jon see if he wants that life or not."

Why would the bastard of Winterfell be satisfied with some small plot of land in the wood if he could be Lord Paramount of the North?

In the north, apparently. Lonnel Snow, the last great bastard of the Starks, had ruled as Warden of the North until his trueborn nephew came of age. In an age of unrest, with a southron Royce as stepmother, he could have perhaps tried seizing power for himself. Yet Lonnel Snow had surrendered power first to Lord Donnor and then to Lord Willam.

"I will speak to him on the matter," Cat says at last. "There is still time before your keep is finished."

"Speaking of time, isn't it time you and Ned named that boy of yours?"

Cat purses her lips. She and Ned have tried on every northern name; Brandon, Rickard, Cregard, and a few river names besides. None can quite fit their pretty, quiet son.

"Alesandor," she murmurs. Because 'Alaric' hadn't quite worked out. "We're trying Alesandor."

Dacey thinks about it and shrugs, not shaking off the babe who already has the Mormont constitution. "Why not just 'Sandor?'"

It sticks.

* * *

Robyn Stark grows into a long Stark face. Her hair darkens from flame to beaten copper. She will sit with Cat when she must to learn a lady's arts or with Maester Luwin for her education. It is Ned's every word she hangs on, as she drinks in his ideas of justice and virtue like a thirsty flower. The gift of a pony for her sixth nameday sends a shriek of delight through Winterfell that sees her rarely out of the saddle.

Cat is less than amused when Lyra and Jorelle Mormont, instead of settling like she and Maege had both hoped, instead spur Robyn's once innocent play-fighting into an earnest interest in archery.

She mentions the concern once to Ned, who dismisses it with a father's indulgence. Lyanna had taken an interest in swords and so he reasons Robyn's passion is not so strange in comparison.

Cat does thank the gods old and new Robyn is no Lyanna come again. There is too much trout in her. Cat grudgingly comes to peace with the bow, for her Robyn is more than adequate otherwise in her public behavior. If anything, Robyn's habits can be used as a reward for exemplary behavior in her courtly manners and knowledge of the household.

Sandor is not a traditional Stark name, but it sounds strong and simple, a northern name for a northern lord.

A beautiful babe, Sandor grows into a beautiful boy, with bright blue eyes and thick auburn hair that never loses its brightness like Robyn's did. Barely old enough to begin his education, he has already gravitated toward music and singing, dancing and poetry, and most especially stories. Cat nurtures his love of knights, if only to get him sword-fighting with the other boys, even if he insists the boys are dragons and all the girls his lady loves.

When the kraken in the south at last rises up in rebellion, Eddard and Benjen both answer the king's call to war. Eddard leaves behind Cat behind. She is sorrowful when she watches him go, but more secure in her power with two children at her side and another in her belly.

Sea Dragon Point, thus far spared from the raids that have yet to reach north of Seagard, is locked down all the same. Jon Snow and Rodrik and baby Lynelle are evacuated to Winterfell. Dacey Stark, Lady of the Wolfkeep, hunkers down with what old men and boys and women Benjen does not take to war.

With Sandor and Rodrik to secure the succession, the birth of a brown-haired, gray-eyed son eases the last bit of tension in Catelyn's stomach, for at last she has a babe to counter Jon Snow.

His Errold Stark for all of two days before Robyn and Sandor dub him Arry.

Arry he stays, unless Cat is particularly unhappy with his mischief.

* * *

Ned and Benjen both return to Winterfell. Ned once more brings a boy most unwelcome, though at least this time it is not his bastard.

Theon Greyjoy is a royal hostage, Balon Greyjoy's last son, granted to Ned by Robert to ensure the compliance of the Iron Islands. Cat wishes they could dump the sullen, seething little boy elsewhere, but the king has insisted. Apparently Prince Joffrey is a difficult enough child without throwing a squid into the mix.

Benjen and his children soon ride out for Dacey and Wolfkeep. Sandor solemnly gives little Lynelle back the beloved toy horse she claimed as her own as a symbol of his affection. Rodrik's parting affection for Robyn is a slobbery shake of the hand. In a move learned from his Mormont aunts, Rodrik then takes Sandor under the arm to vigorously rub his head with his knuckles.

With them go Jon Snow, even more of a Ned in miniature.

For all of his pouting Theon Greyjoy is a handsome boy, with dark hair and a cocky smile once he starts warming up to Winterfell. He is five years older than Robyn and heir of the Iron Islands. Catelyn fears the liberties the boy may one day take, those that far far beyond Petyr's relatively innocent kissing games.

Lyra and Jorelle Mormont, however, are she-bears with no love for squid. They spare Robyn no details on what Theon's ancestors have done to their own. Some of Robyn's gentler, more ladylike companions may blush and giggle at the boy.

Lyra and Jorelle, however, find 'squid hunt' a better game. And rope Robyn into the same.

The Greyjoy boy takes to hiding in the crypts and Catelyn's own sept. More than once Cat discovers the boy treed in the godswood, with Robyn 'playfully' lining up a shot with her bow.

Catelyn's rage in the girls withers somewhat when she learns from from that Theon has taken to ruthlessly taken to bullying Sandor and Robyn, ever her father's daughter, took action into her own hands.

Angry letters fly back and forth between Winterfell and King's Landing, as Theon Greyjoy is a problem neither Ned nor Robert want. It is a disgruntled Jon Arryn that at last takes the boy to ward, to perhaps make him into a decent man as he did so with Ned and mostly failed to do so with Robert.

Catelyn is not sad to see the back of the boy. She and Ned already have another babe on the way, where poor Lysa has buried several stillbirths already. If Theon still needs a mother figure, then perhaps he will find one in her.

* * *

Arry proves himself the exception rather than the rule when his baby sister is once more born with red hair and bright blue eyes. Robyn and Sandor crowd around the babe in wide-eyed amazement.

"She's perfect," Sandor announces solemnly.

Robyn smiles fondly and ruffles his hair. "She's cute, San, but you were even cuter."

Robyn is a big sister three times over now. Her baby sister doesn't look all that different from her baby brothers, aside from the fact she'll be forced to have lady lessons with her too.

Sandor frowns, but then his eyes widen as a new thought comes to him. "Mama, is Bryanna named for _both_ Uncle Brandon and Aunt Lyanna?"

Catelyn assures her children Bryanna is a distinguished old northern name. Neither of them ever quite believes her.

* * *

Bryanna is three years old when Robyn's future must be considered in earnest.

Harrion Karstark already sports a beard and his brothers are neither much younger nor direct heirs of a prestigious seat like Karhold. However, their younger sister Alys is near Sandor's age, and the ideal northern bride. With Robyn now soundly displaced by two brothers and male cousins, Lord Rickard is far more amenable to a possible match that will see his daughter as Lady of Winterfell than his son wed to a she-wolf.

Robin Flint is perhaps also too old for Robyn, and Lyra Mormont already near a woman grown. The two get like a house on fire. With Lord Jorah and his new wife Lynesse Hightower exiled for selling the folk of Bear Island into slavery to fund their lavish lifestyle, Lyra is now a direct heiress, and Maege eager to redeem her family's reputation.

Domeric Bolton is only two years' Robyn's senior and serves in Barrowton as his page, the formidable Barbrey Dustin. He is a handsome enough boy, albeit with the unnerving pale eyes of his sire. Domeric favors the harp and the library, with a genteel manner that brings back unwelcome resemblance to Rhaegar Targaryen in Catelyn's mind.

Domeric might be an excellent horseman, but within minutes of meeting him again Robyn's smile goes from one of genuine interest to one of forced politeness.

"He _only_ talks about his horses," Robyn grouses in private later, when Catelyn helps to unravel her elaborate braid. "And all those stupid tourneys he wants to enter when he's older."

"What about Daryn?" Catelyn points out. "Doesn't he also like horses?"

Robyn's ears go pink. "Yes," she mutters. "But he likes hawking too. And he doesn't make faces when I talk about archery with him. Or San, Arry, and Bry."

Daryn Hornwood is a gangly boy of one and ten. He is heir to the whole Hornwood and has his father's jovial nature.

"How would you feel about getting to spend more time with him?"

Robyn's entire faces a shade almost as intense as her hair. She doesn't say no.

* * *

Donella Hornwood was born Donella Manderly and retains close ties to her kin. Mere weeks after ravens fly between Winterfell and the Hornwood, Robyn departs for White Harbor to serve as cupbearer to Leona Woolfield and companion to her daughters, Wynafryd and Wylla Manderly. So does Daryn depart the Hornwood to serve as squire to his cousin, Ser Marlon Manderly.

Sandor is near ready to burst with jealousy, for Robyn gets to live in White Harbor, the closest thing the north has to the courtly splendors and pageantry of the south.

With Ned refusing to hand over Sandor's education, Ser Donnel Locke instead comes to Winterfell. Ser Donnel is a true northern knight, knighted for his valor in Robert's Rebellion, and keeps to the old gods rather than the new like the Manderlys do.

Sandor is only seven, and must serve three years as page before Ned will allow Ser Donnel to take him on as squire. The tangible promise of a future knighthood.

With her eldest seen too, Catelyn tries to focus on her youngest. Arry, four, runs wild with the children of the staff, Shyra and Bandy and Turnip. She fears setting him loose in Wolfkeep to grow ever wilder alongside his cousins. Instead she and Ned arrange for him to foster in Torrhen's Square, to grow up with Brandon and Beren Tallhart as his stalwart companions.

Little Bryanna, for all she is three, is the one who nearly kills Cat when her mother first discovers her scrabbling up the curtain of the nursery like a squirrel.

Little red wolves and wild wolves are one thing. Even a finned wolf knight is tolerable. A squirrel is quite another.

And not because it is unladylike for little girls to go climbing towers, even if Bry listens to Ned and wears leather instead of dresses when she does so.

"I grounded her today, Ned! Then she climbed _out of her room!"_ Catelyn inhales and exhales raggedly, if only to keep her voice from rising into true hysteria. "One day we'll wake up our girl with a broken neck from that horrid old tower, or _worse."_

Ned stares into their hearth for a long time. "Howland Reed has a boy," he says at last. "Jojen. He's just turned seven."

Only four years older than Bryanna. Well within the five year limit they had agreed upon for a potential betrothed.

"The Neck, Ned?" Cat still asks in dismay, for she knows even northerners discriminate against the crannogmen. "Surely we can do better for our daughter?"

Ned's eyes flash darkly. "Howland Reed saved my life at the Tower of Joy. The debt I owe him still.... goes beyond words."

Cat's breath hitches, so rarely does Ned drag up the day he lost his poor sister. The Reeds _are_ a principal house of the north, for all other families of the Neck are sworn to Greywater Watch.

"I would like Jojen to foster in Winterfell for some time," she allows at last. "To get to know the boy and his family better, and for Bryanna to know him before we ever think to send her south."

Ned kisses her neck in agreement and for a blessed while they need not think of children and futures.

* * *

The year Arry turns six Catelyn loses yet another babe to fostering and gains another, for not only do Jojen and Meera Reed come to Winterfell to join Bryanna, but a surprise joins the Stark family.

After the miscarriage two years after Bryanna, Cat had made her peace with the four children granted to her. This new little girl yet again favors her in appearance, with her bright blue eyes and Edmure's easy smile.

One last time, Cat and Ned consider the names of their dear and departed. It seems almost wrong, now, to burden their babe with the expectations of those who came before.

They settle on Kyra, a new name for a new babe.

Of their two new wards, Cat is fondest of Meera Reed. She is Robyn's age, though her small and slim build make her seem years younger. The girl is bright and cheerful. She makes fast friends with Robyn and Dacey's girls during the time of year all the Stark family congregate in Winterfell.

Sullen little Jojen, however, is a sour old man trapped in a boy's body. Sandor hates him from the beginning, for the two clash in values and Jojen has little interest for fighting or anything that is not dwelling in dreams influenced by too much imagination and an exaggerated belief in the old gods. Cat tries her best to reach out to the boy, but he rebuffs her like no child has before. Even little Bryanna, usually fast friends with most every child, decides he's creepy when the boy starts talking about seeing her in his dreams.

So ends talk of the betrothal. Arry, always the overprotective big brother, sets the Tallhart boys and Benjen's wild brood on Jojen. They are led by Robyn and Jon Snow, oldest of all the Stark brood, who prevent any actual damage from being done to the boy.

Which result in Jojen and Meera having a shouting match over gods and dreams and a game of pretend that has grown too far out of hand.

Ravens can't find Greywater Watch, but there are other locations in the Neck not so cryptic, and Howland is easily able to be reached. Perhaps there is something to the crannogman intuition after all.

Howland comes to collect his son personally. One long and private conversation with Ned in his solar later, the male Reeds depart for the Neck alone. Meera likes Bryanna and Robyn and Winterfell and all the Starks, and wishes not to return home so soon. Cat and Dacey are certainly not blind to the fact Rodrik is utterly smitten with her.

* * *

Robyn Stark is newly five-and-ten that last year before things far apart. She is home from White Harbor, ready to pelt Arry with a dirt clod for once again calling her 'in love with a moose,' when Father summons her too to see the king's justice done.

Arry is brimming with excitement, because it's first time too, and because their cousin Rodrik has talked up the event so much from the execution he's seen Uncle Benjen perform. Sandor rolls his eyes at their little brother.

"A man is about to be killed," he mutters from astride his gentle mare. "That's never a reason to celebrate. You don't see Father looking so happy about it."

Robyn agrees with Sandor for once. "This is justice, Arry. Not something out of your games with the Tallhart boys."

It's telling that their Wolfkeep kin weren't allowed, not even Rodrik, have been allowed along. But Robyn's here. So is Jon Snow, their half-brother. The child their mother still likes to pretend doesn't exist when not in Winterfell.

Robyn believes the man about to be executed to be one of Mance Rayder's wildlings. They are a sight rarely seen in the Hornwood, but every once in a great while an army of wildlings gets south of the Wall, and devastates the realm.

Robyn will be married next year and one day after that a lady in her own right. Surely Father must fear her being attacked in a place where he can no longer protect her, and wants her to realize the dangers ahead?

Instead of a fearsome wildling, they discover an old man dressed in ragged blacks, one that has lost his ears to frostbite. He is a deserter of the Night's Watch, and Father gets little from him before he has two guardsmen drag him to a stump.

"Ser Donnel," Father calls.

Arry's eyes widen when Ice is drawn, for its longer than Robyn herself.

"Don't look away," Jon reminds her and Arry both.

Robyn rolls her eyes. She is no child, like their baby brother is. She knows the man who passes the sentence must swing the sword himself.

Ser Donnel Locke hands their father Ice. Robyn inhales deeply. In one swing, it is over, and the deserter's head rolls toward their feet. Sandor makes a face and Robyn clenches back a revolted gasp.

"Very good," she instead murmurs to Arry, to hide the shakiness in her own voice. "You were so composed. Father must be very proud."

Arry, normally so talkative, is quiet the entire ride back to Winterfell. When Father pulls his horse to talk with him Robyn deftly urges her mare ahead to grant them their privacy. She knows this lesson by heart now, even if Father never before deigned let her watch him carry out the sentence before.

Robyn assumes the matter between them settled, when Father next rides up to her.

"I'm sure you know full well what I just spoke with Arry about."

"'The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword,'" Robyn recites by heart, but cannot help her wan smile. "I am not a man, Father."

"No," Father agrees heavily. "You will be a woman grown soon and a lady. Halys and Daryn will not always be there to carry out justice. One day it may fall to you, as regent or otherwise, to pass that sentence. Even if you do not wield that blade personally it may as well be your hands that bring it down."

Robyn nods solemnly. "But why Jon? Do you expect him to one day serve as Sandor's castellan?"

"If Jon means to do anything than moon after Jorelle, then he lands if not a name of his own to woo her." Father's grace is grim as winter itself. "Let him see what such responsibilities bring, before he seeks to ask me for a keep or to join the Watch."

Jon withdraws into grim thought like Arry when Father presses on to say such things to him.

The ride carries on in relative silence, until the direwolf is discovered. She is the size of Arry's pony, and dead from the shattered antler in its throat. Robyn is concerned by such an omen until she leans in and realizes it belongs to so a lesser elk or red deer.

As such Robyn has no reservations about sweeping a gray little direwolf pup beneath her cloak. Surely the fact that there are six pups discovered during a rare time when all of Ned Stark's children are actually all in residence at Winterfell is omen enough! Especially because there are three males and three females, with even Jon instantly attaching himself to the odd little albino one.

With several pups scooped into her arms, Robyn is already fond of the one with fur like smoke.

A smirk rises to her lips. Maybe Daryn will be envious enough to go out and find a moose calf of his own to raise.

* * *

Were it not for the enormous sides of the whelps brought home, Catelyn would have not believed them direwolves, but what else could birth offspring so big before even their eyes opened? Only the obvious fact they are an omen from the old gods holds back her utter terror at her children, even little Kyra, being granted one.

Robyn rears her smoke gray pup with patience and tenderness that gives Catelyn hope for the future. She names the bitch Grey Wind, for she grows to be swiftest of the little, both noble companion and fearsome protector when Robyn or one of her siblings is endangered.

Sandor has his Knight, fierce and noble for all his also polite and gentle. Arry has his wild Cregan, named for the great wolf lord that triumphed so thoroughly over the south in the Dance of Dragons. Bryanna has her pup with a thousand names, before she settles on Meera's suggestion of Silver. Even little Kyra, initially terrified of her pup, comes to adore Doggie. Even Jon Snow has Ghost, white and silent as the weirwood.

Their peace is short-lived, for the same day the direwolves are found so does the letter of Jon Arryn's passing arrive. Cat mourns for her sister, who has returned to the Eyrie with her poor little Robert, and dreads the arrival of King Robert and his family. The last problem Robert had tried to foist upon the north was Theon Greyjoy, who now has a wife and child after being found abed with the buxom Myranda Royce. Cat morbidly wonders if the king is coming all this way to drop their old errant problem back off on their doorstep.

Ned is grim as the Stranger. "He means to make me Hand, Cat. To make me clean up all his messes as Jon once did."

"He is an old friend," Catelyn allows. "And your king. It would be a great honor."

She has seen how direwolves thrive north of the Neck. They both full know what happens to wolves that go south.

Ned's face twists. "Like there was honor in being granted Theon as a glorified hostage." His face drains. "Or the honor of wedding one of our children into the royal house."

Cat has cared little for the southron marriage games when her status demanded strengthened ties to the North. With a chill she realizes not a single one of Robert's three children is yet promised to anyone or anywhere.

"Not Myrcella," she whispers. "He knows Sandor is betrothed to Alys Karstark." And whatever humble holdings Arry might one day inherit as a second son are nowhere near enough for a princess.

Just as Robert must surely know Robyn has been promised to Daryn Hornwood and fully intending on wedding him in the near future. The love story of the moose and his she-wolf is the talk of White Harbor.

Which leaves....

"Bryanna," they breathe in horror. Their wilful girl, not yet eight. Whose name, despite no conscious intention of her parents, has always rung a little too close to her aunt's.

"No," Cat says resolutely. It matters if not is Prince Joffrey is the Conciliator or the Cruel come again. "Not her. Not Kyra."

"Where?" Ned asks.

Cat frantically flits through the last year of written conversations, promising leads and those left to fizzle. She thinks of the boys already in residence, a certain heir amongst them, that just fits within their promise and already attached to the Starks.

"Torrhen's Square."

"For the both of them?"

Cat considers another lord still in residence, who would understand all too well their need for caution.

"No. Just for Bry."

* * *

The yearly visit to Winterfell should last no more than a month. With a royal party expected, the stay for even the cousins of Wolfkeep drags on.

Robyn's slight dread eases when Daryn Hornwood, newly knighted by Ser Marlon, rides out of White Harbor. He is no longer the gangly boy of their youth but the big-eared, broad-shouldered bullmoose at her side.

Sandor, buzzing at the prospect of standing before the flower of the realm's chivalry, throws himself into his training. Arry and the Tallharts, bored and raising merry hell otherwise, are thrown into training with him. Bryanna, who hasn't climbed in years, must instead be wrangled out of the crannies of the crypt from where she was playing hide and seek with Meera, her cousins, and Silver.

The day the royal party is actually sighted, Cat and Dacey work together to wrangle their brood into submission.

Robyn Stark needs no encouragement. She stands sleek and graceful in a simple gown of gray and white, northern to the core, even with her copper hair and Tully eyes. At her side stands Ser Daryn, his bull moose helm tucked beneath his arm. Grey Wind, already the size of a hound, rests at their feet.

Neither do Knight and Sandor, who stand at perfect attention. Rodrik Stark, already a head taller and twice as broad, grumbles. Beneath his mother's hawk-like gaze he stands still, even if he twitches with the need to ruffle his cousin's perfect hair and perfectly groomed direwolf. At his side stands Alys Karstark, growing out of coltish girlhood and into the pride of Karhold.

There are Lyarra and Arry, scrubbed clean for a change, and Bryanna with Brandon Tallhart. Benjen's twin boys, Rickard and Cregard, elbow each other for the best spot. Their sister Dara eggs them on. Little Eyron unsubtly helps Kyra sneak Doggie scraps from the morning meal.

Robert Baratheon, going soft even in the Greyjoy Rebellion, is more fat than king now while Queen Cersei's beauty seems almost to have become refined with age. Catelyn, with frown lines and a middle gone soft from five children, almost feels self-conscious.

Robert goes down the line of Starklings with good humor, after jesting to Ned if they were all his. He claps Daryn Hornwood on the back and congratulates him on his luck.

"A true beauty, Ned!" Robert says of his namesake, who smiles thinly. "Pity I didn't reach out to you sooner about her, Ned!"

Catelyn's eye roves to the Baratheon children, handsome Jofffrey and pretty Myrcella and plump little Tommen.

With four children sometimes dismissed as trouts Cat has long trained herself to see the wolf in all of them. Despite her copper hair and blue eyes Robyn is northern to the core, from her long face to hands calloused from the bow and loom. Sandor has picked up Ned's stoic expression that emphasizes the chin and nose he received fom him. Bryanna's eyes are a lighter blue, like Benjen's, a wintry sky than the deep waters of the Blue Fork. Beneath Edmure's easy smile Ned sees the face of his mother in Kyra.

Beneath their mother's emerald eyes and golden curls, Cat sees not a trace of Baratheon.

Their fears are proven right when Robert goes for Bryanna's hand, for Tommen if not Joffrey. How can Ned be satisfied with her becoming Mistress of Torrhen's Square when she Queen of the Seven Kingdoms?

When once again rebuffed, Robert makes a halfhearted bid for a match between Tommen and Kyra. He does not see through the paper thin betrothal Cat and Dacey have thrown up between her and her little cousin Eyron.

Cat doesn't want any part of it, the letter from her sister that claims poisoning and the lions in stag's clothing. But Ned sees danger, whether it be from the Lannisters or Jon Arryn's squid ward, grown and bitter.

"I won't be long, Cat," Ned promises her that final night. "It will be the like Hour of the Wolf. I will see justice done for Jon and Robert safe, then home."

Ned rides out with the royal party, followed by banners of moose and white suns and mermen. Benjen takes up place as Sandor's regent, the boy never far from his side. Dacey leaves their brood with him in Winterfell. Sea Dragon Point needs its lady, should the kraken try rising after all. Jon Snow rides with her, for his future lands border hers and his beloved hails from right across the bay.

Robyn and her beloved reluctantly part ways,for she remains in Winterfell where Daryn rides out first for Hornwood and then White Harbor. He does not ride alone.

In weeks of uneasy peace, ravens fly, and vassals subtly reminded of their obligations.

In the south, a stag king dies and plots unravel. A direwolf takes the capital even as a bastard cub escapes into the night. In the west rouses the lion, who falls onto the riverlands in his bloody march east, even as a vengeful kraken falls upon his golden shores.

Marriages are rushed and alliances sealed. A red wolf takes the moose over her shoulders and becomes Robyn Hornwood. Alys Karstark fulfills her father's lifelong ambition by becoming Alys Stark, though years are expected before she and Sandor will truly consummate now what is merely a white marriage.

From Karhold and White Harbor sail winter's wrath, to relieve their liege lord and claim the capital.

Krakens and lions to the west. Bloodied fish to the south. Two jealous stags to the east and the falcons stubbornly roosted in their vale.

The war that bleeds the south is short and brutal. The lion mires himself in the riverlands, with wolves tearing into his face and the kraken his rear. The night before two stags meet in battle one falls by either miracle or treachery. The Quiet Wolf on his throne slinks aside for an undisputed Baratheon and, without fertile ground, the rose wilts in supplication.

With a fractured realm to forge back together, Stannis cares little for the wolves that offer nominal vows that retreat north to lick their little wounds and secure their  own shores. They have seen justice done and Robert's heir restored, and there is little their new king can further command of them. Not when their king to the south can scarce reach beyond the Neck, and a far greater king lurks Beyond the Wall.

Once more the wolves brace for a war they have lived time and time again. The wolf has weathered wildlings and winter before. Their homes are untouched and their men unbloodied. The lone wolf may die, but their pack is plenty, stretching from the eastern keeps to the sunset shores.

Yet not even they have known dragons in the east and the creeping cold beyond their borders.

The north remembers, but not how they last won the dawn.

**Author's Note:**

> Eddard 'Ned' Stark, Warden of the North (263 - ) (m. Catelyn Tully) (262 - )  
> \--Robyn Stark, Lady of the Hornwood (283 - ) (m. Daryn Hornwood) (282 - )  
> \----Edrick 'Ned' Hornwood (299 - )  
> \--Sandor Stark, Heir of Winterfell (286 - ) (m. Alys Karstark) (284 - )  
> \--Errold 'Arry' Stark (289 - )  
> \--Bryanna Stark (290 - ) (b. Brandon Tallhart) (285 - )  
> \--Kyra Stark (295 - )
> 
> Benjen Stark, Lord of the Wolfkeep (268 - ) (m. Dacey Mormont) (268 - )  
> \--Rodrik Stark, Heir of Wolfkeep (286 - )  
> \--Lyarra Stark (289 - )  
> \--Rickard Stark (291 - )  
> \--Cregard Stark (291 - )  
> \--Dara Stark (293 - )  
> \--Eyron Stark (295 - )


End file.
